


I'm Just Sitting Here Waiting For You To Come On Home and Turn Me On

by AuthorOutOfTime



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: M/M, Memories, PWP without Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Recovered Memories, brief mentions of Bucky's time in the chair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorOutOfTime/pseuds/AuthorOutOfTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is sitting in their apartment, pre-war, drawing Bucky and waiting for him to come home. Fast forward to the present, where Bucky is waiting for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Just Sitting Here Waiting For You To Come On Home and Turn Me On

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Norah Jones's 'Waiting' and 'Turn Me On'

Inspired by Norah Jones’s Turn Me On

Steve sat on the sofa and stared at the sketchbook on his lap as the afternoon light filtered in through the window. Even though it was late autumn, and the nights had a biting chill, the late afternoons were still warm and bright. He was waiting for Bucky to get home. Dinner was already on the stove, a rich broth with a bone that still had a decent amount of meat, peas, and even a couple potatoes bubbling gently on the lowest flame he could manage.

He had been sketching the window looking out over the fire escape at the building across the alley, but his hand drifted to the bottom half of the page where he sketched out the sofa and then began a rough figure. The figure was lying on its back, one leg bent, face turned toward him with a smirk tugging at its full mouth.

Of course he was drawing Bucky. He spent more time drawing Bucky than he did drawing anyone or anything else. He had whole books filled with Bucky’s eyes, his hands, the way his mouth curved when he smiled, his ears, and the way his hair laid against the back of his neck when it got too long; pages of nothing but his back, his chest, his long, strong legs, his feet. Nothing escaped Steve’s attention. He even had one picture that he’d convinced Bucky to pose for completely nude. That one took a long time to finish. It didn’t seem to matter how much Steve put him off, they would always eventually end up in bed and the drawing would be sitting on the floor, only the barest amount of work done on it. Those were the best days.

Steve shifted, thinking about the last time he’d tried to convince Bucky to sit still long enough to draw him. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon. They had gone on a double date the night before – keeping up appearances, something they both hated – and Bucky had too much to drink. He did that sometimes when he was really trying to put on a show. He stumbled out of bed around noon, made a beeline for Steve, and curled up with his head in Steve’s lap. He always indulged Bucky when he got like this. He sat running his fingers through his thick, wavy hair while Bucky dozed, only moving to drink the water Steve kept placing in front of him. Eventually, Bucky got up, drank three more glasses of water in rapid succession, and sat down on the couch beside him.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve asked, amused.

“Yeah, I’ll live. Why’d you let me drink so much?” Bucky ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up worse than when Steve was doing it.

“Like I could’a stopped ya. ‘Sides, how would that’a looked? Better to let you get yourself a helluva hangover than to try to stop you drinkin’ in front’a the girls.” Steve settled back against the threadbare old couch and grabbed his sketchbook.

Bucky nodded, blinking owlishly. “Whataya wanna do today?”

“It’s raining and quiet. Let me draw you,” Steve said, opening the book and tucking his feet up under Bucky’s thigh.

“Again?” Bucky teased. In all actuality, he loved posing for Steve. He hated sitting still so long, but it definitely had its perks. Not only did it almost always lead to sex, but being the subject of such intense scrutiny by Steve was damn near a religious experience. Having Steve’s gaze on him, watching as his brows drew down in concentration, something that would have made him squirm in discomfort if it were anyone else, instead had him squirming for an entirely different reason.

“Yeah, again. Just sit still,” Steve said, amused, as Bucky suddenly couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position. “C’mon, Buck, just sit like you were.”

Bucky tipped his head against the back of the couch, exposing the length of his throat, and closed his eyes, schooling his muscles to relax. He imagined he could feel Steve’s gaze on him the same way he could feel his hands when they fooled around. Cracking one eye open, he caught Steve’s glance and held it.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Bucky,” Steve said. He tugged on the lapels of the pyjama shirt he wore, straightening it over his collarbones. It was one of Bucky’s, and he loved wearing it. It was a couple sizes too big and smelled like Bucky when he woke up in the morning, sleepy and warm and a little earthy.

Bucky couldn’t help the twitch of his lips into a tiny smirk. “I’m not tryin’ to do anything, Stevie.”

Occasionally, he'd glance up and catch Bucky still staring at him, but he staunchly ignored him. Well, for as long as he could stand anyway.

Bucky was intentionally egging him on. He spread his legs and shifted his hips, allowing the noticeable tent in his thin pyjama pants to become more obvious. It wasn’t like he could help it, and even if he could, he wouldn’t. He saw the way Steve was trying desperately not look. He bit his lower lip, batted his eyelashes, and basically did anything he could to pull Steve’s attention away from the drawing without moving too much.

Steve pursed his lips and bent back over his sketchbook. After a few minutes, he sighed. “Buck, if it’s really that hard to sit still, I can find another model.”

“Aw c’mon, Stevie,” Bucky said, deliberately making his voice a little huskier. Quick as you like, he snatched Steve's pencil and sketchbook, dropping them on the floor.

"Hey!" Steve began to protest, but suddenly found himself flat on his back with one of Bucky's thighs nestled between his own. Bucky ground down against him and Steve had to bite his tongue to keep the sound he so desperately wanted to make at bay. He refused to let Bucky know so soon what he was doing to him.

"Hi," Bucky said with a grin. He closed the space between them, nipping at Steve's bottom lip before licking into his mouth.

"Hi," Steve replied when they parted, his own mouth twitching despite his best efforts to scowl.

"Whataya say we go back to bed. It's an awful gloomy day and I don't want you catching a cold because you're too stubborn to stay under the blanket with me where it's nice and warm," Bucky said, nuzzling at the collar of Steve's – his – shirt until his scruffy chin chaffed against Steve's shoulder. "C'mon."

That was all it took to convince Steve. Bucky knew he’d been getting to him. He felt smug and wanted to show him just how worth it going back to bed would be. He stood up off of Steve and pulled him back toward the bedroom. They stripped down to their skin and climbed into their bed. When they knew that they would be alone for days at a time, they’d stack their mattresses, making a much more comfortable bed, even if it was still too small.

As soon as they were both lying down, Bucky pulled Steve flush against him. He took his time making a slow, thorough perusal of Steve’s mouth, and when he pulled back, Steve was smiling.

“What’re you grinnin’ about?” he asked.

“You’re like a big old lazy tom cat when you’re hung over,” Steve said. “You sleep all day but still somehow manage to demand all the attention in the room.”

Bucky laughed. “A cat, huh? You gonna give me cream so I keep comin’ ‘round?”

“I suppose,” Steve said, stretching languidly against Bucky’s body, making sure he rubbed against him as much as he could.

“Now who’s a cat?” Bucky asked.

“What? I was just stretchin’,” Steve said too innocently.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky muttered. He buried his face in Steve’s neck and ran his hand down his back, pressing their hips closer together.

Steve arched against him again, but this time it had nothing to do with stretching. He groaned softly as Bucky, already hard and leaking, thrust against his hip. “No marks, Buck.”

“Only where no one but me’ll see ‘em,” Bucky promised. He nosed down Steve’s collar bone and sucked a nice dark mark right over the center of Steve’s left pec, and then moved over and did the same on the right. When he finished, he stared at the twin marks for a moment, and then looked up at Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes were scrunched closed, a grimace of pleasure drawing his brows down. He was prettier than any painting Bucky had ever seen. “Y’look so good like this.”

In response, Steve reached between them and ran the very tip of his finger from the base to the head of Bucky’s cock. His breath stuttered in his chest and Steve took the opportunity to pull him down and kiss him, long, slow, and dirty, his fingers never ceasing their teasing.

“Goddamn, Stevie…” Bucky growled, rocking against Steve’s hand. He’d finally gripped them both and the friction was fantastic, but nowhere near enough.

Steve huffed out a laugh. Bucky always cursed like a sailor when he wanted to come but was trying to hold off. Steve wasn’t ready for it to be over either, so he kept up his languid pace.

Bucky panted and gasped, his forehead resting against Steve’s. He was in heaven. He was in hell. He desperately wanted to come and Steve Goddamn Rogers was teasing him. He couldn’t take it anymore and, with a low moan, reached between then and wrapped his hand around Steve’s. “Faster, damn you, Rogers.”

Steve laughed outright this time. He let Bucky take over, bringing his hand up and gently running his tongue over his fingers, cleaning off the pre-cum that coated them.

“Jesus, that’s filthy,” Bucky said, his pupils blown wide. He crushed their mouths together, groaning at their mingled flavors on Steve’s tongue.

Steve felt himself getting close, pleasure sparking up his spine. He gripped Bucky’s shoulders tightly, arching against him. “Buck, please…”

“Hey, Stevie, what’cha doin?”

Bucky’s voice jarred him from his thoughts. He stood by the door and dragged his work boots off. "Why’re you sittin’ in the dark?"

"I was waitin’ for you," Steve said, dropping his sketch pad and crossing the room to where Bucky stood.

"Oh yeah?" Bucky asked, a smirk beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Waitin’ for me, huh?”

"Mm-hmm," Steve hummed, pushing Bucky against the wall. "I was waitin’ for you to come home and turn me on."

Bucky groaned as Steve leaned up on tiptoe and dragged him down to meet him for a slow, thorough kiss.

*****

2016

Bucky sat on the sofa and sighed. In the three days he’d been home, he'd gone through all the episodes of the cooking show he and Steve tried to keep up with, and caught up to where Steve left off on Star Trek. He tried reading, but couldn’t concentrate. It had been a month since he’d been home and he expected to come back and find Steve lounging on the sofa with a beer and his sketch pad. What he found instead was a hastily scrawled note (Steve still left notes, despite the fact that he could, and did, send an email or a text that Bucky would see eventually) that he’d be back as soon as he could. It was dated a week ago, and Bucky was getting goddamn bored.

He sent a quick text to Sam demanding coffee, pastries, and company. Apparently, whatever took Steve away wasn't so dangerous that the rest of their strange little team was needed, so he wasn't too worried. Admittedly, though, he still had odd moments where he...didn't quite forget that Steve wasn’t skinny and sick now, that he was Captain America and more than capable of taking care of himself. He was merely nostalgic for their simple lives before World War II and the serums and the train and...well, better not to go down that road.

After fruitlessly flipping through the nine thousand channels (who needed that many channels?), he was seriously considering going for a run because Sam never texted back when there was a knock on the door.

"JARVIS?" Bucky asked.

"Mr. Wilson is at the door. Shall I let him in?" JARVIS replied.

"Does he have pastries?" Bucky asked loudly, leaning against the wall beside the door.

"If I do, I'm not sharing now!" Sam yelled.

Bucky laughed and opened the door.

"See if I ever bring you an entire pumpkin roll again," Sam grumbled, handing over a bag and a large cup of coffee. "Do you know how ridiculous I felt ordering a venti pumpkin spice latte with three extra pumps of pumpkin spice and an entire pumpkin roll?"

"I told you we'd get you Ugg boots for Christmas," Bucky teased.

"Damn straight you will," Sam said, grabbing the remote and making himself comfortable.

Bucky grabbed a knife, two forks, and two plates from the kitchen, casually flipping the knife up in the air and catching it as he wandered back into the living room.

By the time Sam left, they’d finished the pumpkin roll and marathon’d all three original Star Wars films – again. Bucky took a shower, pulled on some sweat pants and one of Steve’s t-shirts, and lounged on the couch. He could smell Steve on the shirt; paint, coffee, and a whiff of the cologne he favored. He stared out the window at the setting sun and allowed his mind to drift, something he was afraid to do for a very long time but now found a strange comfort. He could remember things. After going so long with a completely blank slate, it still struck him that he knew what he had for dinner a week ago, or that he used to love banans. He remembered scraping enough money together to go to Coney Island, and the time that Steve got sick on the Cyclone. When he remembered that for the first time, he and Steve were in bed and he started laughing. He laughed long and hard and every time he looked over at Steve, he would laugh harder. Steve waited until he calmed down and explained, and then promptly told him to go fuck himself. Steve was smiling, though.

At first, remembering terrified him. Whatever the hell magic Wanda Maximoff had flowing through her fingertips had felt like demons clawing at his brain, making him feel like he was still strapped into that godforsaken chair. Now, though, he knew how to steer himself away from the dark rooms in his mind where the ghosts of the last 70-odd years would overwhelm him if he allowed it.

Instead, he thought back to before everything, when it was just the two of them against the world. If he tried hard enough, he could smell their old apartment; the glue from the peeling wallpaper, the pack of Lucky Strikes in his jacket pocket, some sort of stew boiling on the stove…

And suddenly, he could remember a day when he’d been working late and got home well into the evening. Steve was sitting on their battered, old, springy couch in the near-dark with a sketch pad on his lap, staring down at a half-finished drawing, probably of Bucky, when he walked in and Steve pinned him against the wall and kissed him. Well, they’d done a helluva lot more than kiss. Steve dragged him into the bedroom and sucked his brains out through his dick.

He smiled at the memory. Steve had always known exactly what he wanted, and Bucky was more than willing to give it to him, and take what he wanted in return.

In his mind's eye, he could see their bedroom; the old creaky bed frames, the mattresses stacked on one of them, the dresser they shared. If he closed his eyes, he could see Steve, all sharp angles and scraped knuckles, his skinny chest heaving as Bucky slowly took him apart. For all that Steve would run his mouth during a fight, he was incredibly quiet when they had sex. He still was, and Bucky still relished every soft breath and hushed moan.

The more he thought about it, the more he found himself missing the big warm body he had become so used to sleeping beside. He missed even more the feel of that big warm body fucking him into the mattress.

His hand settled on his hip, playing with the waistband of his sweats.

_Fuck it_ , he thought. If he couldn't have Steve in the flesh, he would damn sure take the memory of him.

"JARVIS, don't let anyone in but Steve." He slid his hand down and gripped himself tightly for a moment. Groaning softly, he began to jerk himself, slowly at first, but quickly building a rough, fast rhythm.

He drifted back to that evening, the feel of Steve's soft hair between his fingers and the wet heat of his mouth. God, how he wanted to recreate that night. It was so vivid, now that he thought about it. Except he wanted to be the one on his knees this time. He wanted to shove Steve against the wall and swallow him down without so much as a 'hello' or an 'I missed you'. Steve jokingly told him to use his words, but Bucky was a man of action and he'd be damned if his actions weren't going to speak louder than his words the second Steve walked through that door.

He was already so close, picturing himself on his knees before Steve. Lighting raced down his spine. Heat pooled in his belly...just a little more...

The door opened and Steve walked in. He stared at Bucky, whose right hand slowed but didn't stop; whose left hand was wound in his hair; whose face was that of a cat in the cream.

"Hey'ya, Stevie," he purred.

"What'cha doin' there, Buck?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"Waiting for you to come home and turn me on," Bucky said, still teasing himself with a twist of his wrist. He tossed his head back and groaned, putting on a show. Not that he needed to. He could already see Steve straining against his jeans.

"Looks like you've already got that covered." Steve's voice was rougher than normal. He leaned his shield against the wall and crossed to stand over Bucky.

Bucky’d already had enough talking. He wasted no time in reaching for Steve's fly, but Steve stopped his hand and pulled him up off the couch in a move that surprised a little grunt from him.

"Bedroom, now," Steve demanded before pulling him in for a rough, deep kiss that left Bucky panting and harder than he could ever remember being.

He allowed Steve to drag him into the bedroom before he took over, shoving Steve against the wall before attacking his fly. When the button didn't cooperate, he wrapped his left hand around a ripped the fabric, reaching into Steve's boxers and gripping him tightly with his right hand. Steve's answering groan was louder than any sound he'd ever made before and it drove Bucky crazy. He sank to his knees smoothly and worked Steve's ruined jeans down his thighs just enough for his leaking cock to spring free. He looked up long enough to see Steve's head thrown back. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. Bucky took him into his mouth, moaning as his head slid against the roof of his mouth and into his throat.

Steve twisted his hands into Bucky's long hair and held on as Bucky swallowed around him and then began bobbing his head.

"Jesus Christ, Bucky," Steve whispered reverently.

Bucky ran his tongue along the thick vein and around the head before sinking back down until his nose was buried in the dark blond curls at the base. He fumbled through the nightstand for the bottle of lube and popped the cap.

Steve sucked a deep breath in when he heard the snick of the cap opening, only to have it punch its way back out as Bucky's cool, slick finger pressed into him. "Please, Buck..."

"Please Buck what?" Bucky asked, peppering his thighs with bruises that disappeared as quickly as he could make them.

"Fuck me," Steve gasped.

Bucky looked up at him with a grin and slid another finger inside his tight, warm body. "Yes, sir, Captain, sir," he said.

"Fuck you," Steve said, whipping his shirt over his head before dragging Bucky up.

"Aw, Stevie, I wanted to top," he teased, flexing his fingers.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Steve asked, dropping his head onto Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky slipped his fingers out and finally lost his clothes. Steve rushed out of his ruined jeans a t-shirt before pushing Bucky backwards and climbing on top of him, grinding their cocks together and swallowing Bucky's harsh groan with a kiss. He sat up and guided Bucky's head against his body, teasing them both, before taking him to the base in one smooth slide that left them both panting.

 "So that's how to shut you up" Steve said with a satisfied laugh.

"When did you get so mouthy?" Bucky asked, gripping Steve's hips and setting a luxurious rhythm.

"I thought you liked my mouth," Steve shot back.

 "Oh, I do," Bucky replied. He pulled Steve in for a kiss, thrusting into him a little harder.

Steve sighed into the kiss and went quiet and pliant, allowing Bucky to do as he wished.

Bucky flipped them over, hiked Steve's legs up over his shoulders, and rolled his hips. He knew that he hit his prostate when Steve tensed and whimpered so softly and prettily. Bucky wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to wring every last gasp and sigh out of Steve that could, and he snapped his hips harder, pegging that bundle of nerves with every thrust.

"Fuck...fuck, Stevie it's been too long. Goddamn you feel so good..." Bucky mumbled. "I'm so fucking close."

Steve reached for him, brushing his hair from his face. "Bucky..."

"You close?" he asked, honestly unsure if he could get Steve to come before he did. At Steve's nod, he redoubled his efforts, pounding into him hard enough that the bed began banging into the wall.

"You first, Stevie," Bucky gasped, reaching between them and jerking Steve's leaking cock.

"Together," Steve demanded. He deliberately tightened his muscles around Bucky, making his rhythm falter.

The air punched out of his lungs and his eyes rolled back. When he looked back down at Steve, he was smiling beatifically up at him.

"Punk," he bit out, tightening his grip on Steve's cock and twisting his wrist at the head.

"Jerk," Steve whispered. He clamped his muscles again, though this time it was involuntary. "Buck you're gonna make me come..."

"Not if I come first," Bucky gasped, twisting his wrist again. Twice more was all it took for either of them. Bucky wasn't sure who began to come first, but it was like a freight train hitting them both. Bucky collapsed onto Steve's chest and couldn't have moved if someone had a gun trained at his bare ass. Steve wasn't much better off. His arms were thrown over Bucky's back, one legged slung over his calf.

"I missed you," Steve said, kissing his head.

"I missed you, too," Bucky mumbled against his chest. After a moment he propped his chin with and smirked. "Y’know, you're getting sentimental in your old age."

"Fuck you," Steve said affectionately.

"Christ, Rogers, give a guy a chance to recover," Bucky said, grimacing as he sat up and their skin became unglued.

"Shut up," Steve said, pulling him back down for a long, slow kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, come visit me at http://blackcamouflagewarpaint.tumblr.com/ where we can cry about Stucky together!


End file.
